


Familiar Problems

by Lurlur, RainingPrince, robynthemagpie_writes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Aromantic Character, Cat Sitting, Cats, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Illustrated, Like, Newt sighs a lot, Podfic Welcome, RomCom notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynthemagpie_writes/pseuds/robynthemagpie_writes
Summary: It had been a perfectly normal day, until Newt opened his mouth and found himself in over his head.He’s still not sure why he said anything in the first place.  He doesn’t know anything about cats; doesn’t even like them.  But when Mr. Fell’s lovely friend needed help, he had volunteered to cat-sit.
Relationships: Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Newton Pulsifer & Agnes the cat
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	Familiar Problems

**Author's Note:**

> “Sparkes Shalle Fly When Familiar Meets Salamander” -Robyn
> 
> Content notes: some food, destruction of armchairs, minor injury/scratches
> 
> Shoutout to Bucky for help with the summary, and Terek for the beta-read.  
> Illustrated by [Robyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynthemagpie_writes/pseuds/robynthemagpie_writes)!!  
> [View the comic embedded below over here,](https://robynthemagpie.tumblr.com/post/623710880319913984/familiar-problems-artwork-robynthemagpie)!!  
> And a special thank you to the wonderful [Lurlur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/) who was such a help making this project come to fruition. This would have taken me far too long without her. <3

It had been an incredibly absurd and impulsive thing to do, and Newton would absolutely never get over the embarrassment of this moment for the rest of his life.

It might have made more sense to drop the book he had been reshelving and deal with the consequence of Mr. Fell’s stink-eye, or offer to pat his belly and rub his head (or was it the other way around?). He barely knew the woman, and yet he had completely without thinking stuttered out a bashful “I’ll take her! Just-just for a bit, you know. While you… remodel.”

He didn’t even like cats.

“What was your name again?” She asked, readjusting her glasses as she gave him an obviously dubious once-over.

“Newt-Newton, Pulisfer. Friends call me Newt.” His mouth was completely dry, he was surprised that that hadn’t come out a gasping wheeze. Who knows, it might still. He hastily replaced books he’d been holding and stepped out from behind the shelf.

“Do you know this guy?” She tried to whisper inconspicuously to Mr. Fell, but something about the acoustics meant it reached Newt’s ears anyway. He pretended not to have heard.

Mr. Fell, clearly relieved to see a possible out, smiled just a hint too saccharine. “Oh, yes! Mr. Pulsifer is a very polite chap, he comes in once a month or so for his employer, the Sergeant does keep me busy with all his research requests. He’s a very fine boy.”

Newt quietly preened, unsure if the buttery language was based in any awareness of his own secret infatuation or just Mr. Fell’s distaste for the prospect of cat-sitting. He decided he didn’t really care. “I’ve got a flat and everything, and my mum isn’t allergic so it’s not so big a deal.”

Her eyes were still narrowed, but she looked more contemplative than suspicious right now and he would take it. “Where is this… flat?”

“Uhm… Dorking?”

She frowned, turning to look away and rubbing her chin while she thought something through. “That’s quite a distance. I’ll be staying in Mayfair with a friend. I’d want to come visit her.”

“You’d be welcome to, whenever you like! Or I could possibly drive her in now and again. I work in London, I’m here often enough.” Were his palms sweaty? Don’t wipe them, that’s too obvious.

She glanced back to Mr. Fell, who smiled that just-barely obvious smile again. Then she turned her attention back to Newt. “If Az vouches for you then I guess that’s good enough for me. He hasn’t let me down yet. Except that one time with the uni.”

Mr. Fell looked offended. “I told you! The place was peddling sub-par product, it wasn’t my fault.”

She turned a conspiratorial smirk on Newt. “How much do you know about keeping a cat?”

oOo

They agreed that Anathema would drop the cat off on Tuesday afternoon.

Newt spent the entirety of Monday cleaning the apartment, top to bottom. He scrubbed every dish, every counter, every toilet, washed the windows and fluffed the pillows on the sofa.

When Dorothy had returned home after work she’d nearly dropped the groceries in surprise. “What happened?”

“The cat is getting dropped off tomorrow, I wanted the place to look nice.” Newt had explained as he hurried passed her in the front hall carrying the curtains toward the laundry room. “When was the last time the shower head got cleaned?”

“I don’t think it’s been done since we moved in,” Dorothy ogled at the freshly sparkling living room and the brightness through the windows. “Have you rearranged the pictures on the mantle?”

“Can’t hear you!” Newt called from down the hall. “Did you remember to pick up kale chips?”

Dorothy slowly placed her groceries on a kitchen counter she hadn’t seen in months. “You were serious?”

Newt popped his head around a wall with a thinly-veiled panic. “You didn’t get them?”

“Newt, love, it’s a cat. I don’t think she’s going to be eating a lot of kale chips.”

“It’s not for the cat, mum!”

“Newt, you’re never once in your twenty four years eaten kale! Why would you start now?” 

His face flushed pink and he ducked out of sight.

“Is this about the cat girl?”

“Oh _please_ never say those two words in that order again, mum.”

“So it _is_ about the cat girl.”

“Will you please just remember to get kale chips next time?”

“Of course, sweetie.” Dorothy laughed, a little baffled, and began to put away the groceries.

  
oOo  
  


“Make absolutely certain you mix these two together, this one is the two-parts, this one is the three parts, and two drops of this in every meal. No more no less.”

“You wrote it down already, I have it all I promise!” Newt eyed the cat as she inspected his mothers’ favorite armchair. “Should I be worried about her wrecking the upholstery?”

“All cats do that, she’s no exception.” Anathema beamed at him, setting the food in the drawer he’d selected for the cat things. “She seems to be settling in alright, no hints of anxiety or other pets, so she should be fine. If there’s an emergency you have my number. It’s a bit of a trek but Crowley drives like a bullet so it shouldn’t be too long to get here from his flat. I promise, this is just two months. As long as the contractor keeps up his end of the bargain, everything will be fine.”

He beamed back, though still a bit nervously.

“Relax, Newt. I’m sure you’ll do fine. She likes you!” Anathema gestured down to where Agnes was wrapped part way around her leg, sniffing his loafers.

“I’m sure I’ll like her too.” He said. He hoped it would be true.

* * *

And that’s the long and short of how Newt got to be standing in the hallway, toilet paper all over the bathroom and living room furniture, and a broken plate on the kitchen floor, while Agnes sat on the couch, smugly licking between her toes.

“You’ve been here three hours! How could you make this big a mess so quickly?”

She didn’t even look up at him.

He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses and tried to calm down. It wouldn’t do to be rash, but how was he supposed to deal with a cat this destructive for two whole months?

Grumbling, he resigned himself to the cleanup, grabbing a broom from the closet. “You had better not do this again, especially not while mum is home.”

Agness just shifted and began to lick another paw.

Newt grudgingly picked up the toilet paper and made a mental note to baby proof the cupboards under the sink. It wasn’t quite as much as it had looked all spread out, but it was still an armful, and he spent a good thirty seconds just trying to make it all fit in the kitchen bin. The broken plate was lost, too many pieces to glue back together and he dumped it on top of the toilet paper with a sigh. He thought he was going to be doing a lot of that before this was over.

“What was I thinking?” He asked, turning to Agnes. “I’ve never had a cat before. Isn’t there anything you can do to help me out here?”

She actually did look up at him this time; her large, slitted eyes considering him for a moment, her back leg still stretched glorious and graceful into the air.

Newt sucked in a breath, watched her with anticipation, he wondered what she might do next. Did she understand him? Could they form a truce?

She turned back to her leg and continued her grooming, unaffected.

His shoulders slumped.

This was gonna be a long summer.

* * *

A few days later Newt got a call from Anathema while he was folding laundry. She had given him her number in the bookshop, but they had made plans for Agnes to be dropped off verbally and she had only texted once to confirm he’d been home. He wasn’t sure why but he hadn’t actually expected to hear from her again, especially since her cat was currently scratching away at an armchair in the den, he could hear the weave protesting.

“H-hel-hell-o?” He stammered, mentally kicking himself for such a weak start. “This is Newt.”

“Newt? I thought I was calling my uncle Walter.”

“Oh,” he felt his shoulders slump, and hoped desperately that she didn’t notice the resounding disappointment in his voice. “Well, carry on then, I’ll let you go.”

“Shit, sorry, I was teasing! I don’t have an uncle Walter. I’m calling to check in on Agnes.”

“Oh!” He couldn’t help the flush in his cheeks. “She’s fine. Getting up to… cat things, I expect.” He realized he couldn’t hear the scratching anymore, so he leaned around the doorway to check on Agnes. She was nowhere in sight. “At least I expect she is, I’m not really sure where she is at the moment.”

“What does that mean?” Anathema’s voice sounded nervous, almost dangerous.

“No no! She’s fine, I saw her just a minute ago, she must have run off behind the sofa or something!”

“Oh, good!” Sunny and sweet again. Newt was having trouble keeping up. “Has she been eating alright? Playing with her toys?”

“Yes, she seems to be doing alright. Mum loves her, they’re already getting along. I saw her on her lap this morning.”

“Excellent. Listen, are you free on Tuesday? Crowley’s got a work thing in Guildford and I was hoping I could come by and check in? He said he’d drop me off, it’ll only be a few hours.”

Newt nearly dropped the phone.*

*footnote: it hardly would have mattered, the thing was an older Nokia. One of the only phones that actually worked around Newt, simply because it was too stubborn to crack under his unexplained mechanicidal force field.

“Yeah, sure, any time. You know where I live!”

“Awesome! I’ll see you both on Tuesday!” And she hung up.

Newt smacked himself in the forehead. “You know where I live!? What the heck was that?” He reached out and blindly grabbed the first piece of clothing he touched with the intention of folding it. It happened to be a pair of trousers half tucked under several other garments and tugging it free resulted in a cascade of shirts and underthings falling across the floor and onto his toes. “Fiddlesticks!”

“Mrrrrow?” Came a curious voice from close by. He looked up. Agnes was sitting on the corner of his bed, surveying the damage with what might have been mirth.

“Oh sure, come to make fun of me then?”

Agnes simply blinked, and dropped from the corner of the bed. She came over and brushed along his ankle, and promptly lay down on top of the still-warm laundry.

“I just washed those!”

She looked up at him and said nothing.

* * *

* * *

Newt was used to a quiet, passive existence in his home. He woke up, brushed his teeth, his clothes were always hung up and ready to wear, his keys and glasses right where he had left them. He was used to his slippers staying right next to his bed and his shoes on the shelf by the front door, and things staying right where he or Dorothy left them.

So you can imagine how confusing it was Thursday morning when Newt woke up, reached for his glasses and found them three inches to the right of their usual home.

“That’s weird,” he mumbled sleepily, stretching out his arms before pulling back the covers and swinging his feet out of bed. His right foot landed on his slipper as usual, however his left unexpectedly made contact with the cold floor. “Eep!” He yelped.

Blinking confusedly, Newt leaned over and stared at the ground, his left foot hovering injuriously. One of his slippers was missing. “What the-?”

Before he could finish his half-formed thought, a fuzzy brown appendage came flying out from under the bed and batted at his right ankle.

“Eek!” Newt launched his entire body backwards, his feet flipping into the air and his singular slipper went flying across the room. It hit the edge of a bureau and fell to the floor. As soon as the slipper hit the ground, the owner of the offending paw went skittering across the hardwood and slammed into the bureau, nearly knocking over a small picture frame and a half-finished metal model of the Hindenburg.

She was vicious, tackling the slipper with gleeful abandon, and Newt could only watch in mounting horror.

“Is that what you did to the other one?” He asked softly. She didn’t look up at him.

While Agnes was distracted, Newt decided to brave the cold hard floors and escape to the kitchen, hoping the prospect of food would calm both his frantic heart and the vicious beast in his bedroom.

The smell of fresh tea already hung in the air, and he found Dorothy reading quietly in the living room, the kettle still warm and ready.

Gratefully, he poured himself a cup and made sure that Agnes’s bowl was full before he padded out to sit opposite his mother at the table.

“Where are your slippers?

Newt winced. “She ate them.”

“Ah.” Dorothy smiled sympathetically at him. “Same thing happened to one of my knitting projects last night. It was already practically abandoned, I think the last time I picked it up was three years ago, but still.” She huffed.

“We will have to be more careful about closing doors or hiding things from her,” Newt sighed, “and soon.”

They were both quiet for a moment as Dorothy turned a page and Newt sipped his tea. It was quiet enough that soft fuzzy footfalls could barely be heard on the hardwood as Agnes slipped into the kitchen to inspect her breakfast.

“It’s such a nice day, I think I'll work from home for a bit and then go to the park, maybe do some yoga in the sun.” Dorothy had kept her yoga mat and the uncomfortable little pillow-roll-thing to go with for six years with no use, Newt wasn’t sure why today was any different.

“Have fun then, I’ll see you after?”

“I was sort of hoping you’d come with?” The look on Dorothy’s face was hopeful.

“You want me to do yoga? I don’t even have a mat!”

“I have an extra! When was the last time you stretched those muscles of yours!”

“When was the last time you stretched yours?”

Dorothy blushed. “Would you please just humor me? You don’t even have to do it for very long. I’d just like to spend some time with you.”

Newt sighed. “I didn’t say no, mum. Of course I’ll go. But what do we do about Agnes?”

The feline in question was currently eating her breakfast with audible gusto, tiny growls and grunts floating through the house in an uncomfortably amusing polyphony.

“Is it a bad idea to take cats to the park?”

“Yes, mum!”

* * *

The first time it happened, Newt was certain that Anathema was either going to murder him or somehow sue him for negligence in charge of a feline. Agnes was missing and Newt was beside himself with worry. She couldn’t have gotten out of the flat, not through the door anyway. His mother had left some hours before and Agnes had been seen snoozing on the sofa since.

He searched everywhere he could think of, twice, but there was no sign of her. No bright eyes peering out from under the bed, no twitching tail sticking out from behind the sofa, no tufty ears betraying her nest in the pile of clean laundry. He had run out of places to look and the thought of upsetting Anathema was looming large in his mind.

Logically, Newt knew that Agnes had to still be in the flat. There was no way for her to escape without the front door being opened. So perhaps she was trapped somewhere? Maybe she’d climbed in somewhere comfortable and cosy only to find herself stuck and unable to escape. Maybe she was already trapped and crying to be let out. He froze where he stood in the living room, straining his ears to listen for any panicked mewls. It was silent. Well, almost silent.

With a truly sick feeling, Newt rushed into the kitchen and skidded across the floor in his socked feet. He didn’t stop in time, knocking his knee spectacularly against a cupboard but he hardly noticed in his desperation. He jabbed at the buttons on the washing machine and yanked at the door, driven by the idea that, somehow, Agnes had been loaded into the machine with the dirty laundry.

Even as he remembered going through the pockets of every item, loading them one at a time, his mind tried to construct a scenario where Agnes had slipped by, unnoticed. It wasn’t possible, he knew, and yet he had no other explanation available.

As he looked about for some way to prise the washing machine door open, he finally saw the more sensible solution to his problems. Tucked into a corner of the kitchen counter, next to the table salt and blackcurrant cordial, was a yellow tub of Agnes’ cat treats. He picked it up and gave it a gentle shake, letting the treats rattle.

Immediately, he heard a soft ‘mrrp’ sound, the adorable indication of a waking Agnes in his vicinity. Shaking the tub again, he looked around for any sign of movement, expecting the impending arrival of Agnes and her voracious appetite for treats. He barely had time to parse the sound of lightly scrabbling claws as coming from _above_ him before Agnes landed, without ceremony, on his shoulder and scrambled down his chest to the floor.

Shocked, scratched, and more than a little confused, Newt gaped at her.

“Mrow,” she said, standing on her hind legs to swat at the tub in his hand, demanding as ever.

“Right, sorry,” Newt said as he fumbled with the lid, “were you on top of the cupboard?”

She looked at him placidly, blinking once while she waited for her treats. Knowing that was all the answer he was likely to get, Newt gave her three treats and a good scratch behind the ears when she was done.

His knee had a bruise for a week.

oOo

The second time it happened, he hadn’t even realised she was missing. Dorothy was sitting in the armchair, knitting and nattering about her day, when the oven timer went off. She was about to put her knitting down but Newt stopped her.

“I’ll get it, mum,” he said, uncurling from the sofa. “You just find something for us to watch.”

He accepted her grateful smile and headed into the kitchen. Turning the oven off, he set out the trivet and grabbed the oven gloves. There was a delicious lasagne in the oven, the rich smell of tomato sauce filling the air. Newt had been looking forward to it all afternoon.

As soon as he had the lasagne in his hands and out of the oven, still bent over, a sudden weight dropped onto his back.

“What the-” he muttered before recognising the movements of Agnes’ four paws. “Come on, hop off now. Where’d you even come from?”

Agnes walked a small circle over Newt’s back and settled down.

Irritated, Newt began to stand, thinking to force her off and to the floor. Instead, Agnes dug her claws into his skin and hung on. Ultimately, Newt’s pain tolerance was weaker than her resolve, and he gave up with a small dismayed sound. She was remarkably stubborn. 

“Mum!” Newt called out.

“Yes, love?”

“Can you come help me?”

“Help you with taking dinner out of the oven?” Dorothy muttered, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Still, he could hear her approach, so at least he wouldn’t be trapped this way forever. Her laugh was mockingly delighted. “How on earth have you ended up like that?”

Newt sighed with relief as he felt Agnes being lifted from his back with an indignant “Mprrrp!”

“I think she’s been climbing up on top of the cupboards in here,” he explained, finally putting the lasagne on the trivet. “Must have decided I looked like a stepping stone.”

Dorothy laughed again, holding Agnes to her chest.

oOo

Before there could be a third time, Newt covered the tops of the cupboards with scrunched-up aluminium foil, the best Agnes deterrent he had found to date.

* * *

Much like the parent of a toddler, Newt came to both appreciate and fear the times when Agnes was quietly out of sight. She could go from being curled up in a sunbeam to scaling the kitchen cabinets in the blink of an eye, and Newt began to consider undisturbed peace as little more than the calm before the next storm.

With this hard-earned experience at the front of his mind, Newt decided to check on Agnes before making his lunch. They had been enjoying a leisurely Saturday whilst Dorothy was out catching up with a couple of old friends, but now Newt was hungry, and admittedly paranoid.

He found Agnes asleep in an undignified stretch of limbs and belly across the sofa.

Leaving her peacefully snoozing, Newt headed into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle before fetching a loaf of bread from the bread bin. In his comfortable routine, he barely thought about the actions of dropping a tea bag into his mug, or layering slices of ham onto buttered bread. After adding a smear of mayonnaise to his sandwich, Newt opened the fridge to put the ham, milk and butter back where they lived.

A soft _splap_ sound from behind him had him spinning on the spot to find Agnes on the kitchen counter, devouring ham as quickly as she could from his deconstructed sandwich. The top slice of bread lay forlornly on the floor, a faint halo of mayonnaise splattered out around it.

“Agnes!” he snapped, waving his hands at her. “Get down!”

With a look plainly expressing that Agnes was only getting down because she wanted to, not because of anything that Newt had done, she picked up the last of the ham and jumped off the counter to finish it on the floor.

“I really don’t know if you’re allowed to eat ham,” Newt fretted, stooping to pick up the bread and clean the mess. “Probably got too much salt or fat or something.”

Agnes regarded him with large eyes as she licked her whiskers loudly, her long tongue seeking the last lingering traces of flavour.

Grumbling about his lost lunch, Newt started again with a new sandwich, opting for something he hoped would be less tempting to the little thief. He sliced cheese, buttered two fresh pieces of bread, and cut the sandwich diagonally because they tasted better that way.

By the time he was ready to eat, his tea was over-brewed and a thin film of staining tannin was forming in his mug. Wasting cat nibbled bread was one thing, but Newt had to draw the line at wasting tea.

He carried his mug and plate into the living room, sipping the slightly bitter tea and minding the way Agnes wound herself between his feet. Setting his lunch on the coffee table, Newt turned on the TV and settled on the sofa to eat. Agnes jumped up beside him, eyeing the new sandwich with a curiosity that bordered on obtrusive. He picked it up and held it above her, trying to keep it safe while he selected a show to watch.

Sniffing, Agnes got closer still, putting her front paws on Newt’s thigh. He had enough experience to be grateful that her claws were sheathed as she stretched up towards his plate. Automatically, he lifted it higher, above her head, and she responded by placing her front paws on his chest, trying to climb him.

“Shoo! Agnes, no!” he tried. She ignored him.

He put down the remote and took a bite of the sandwich, adjusting his hold on it slightly. Agnes, clearly sensing weakness, lunged forward and pulled a slice of cheese from his grasp. Before he could react, she was off the sofa and in the kitchen, noisily munching her prize.

Endlessly worried about Agnes eating things she shouldn’t, Newt gave chase and found her just in time to see the last of her stolen slice disappear behind needle-sharp teeth.

“So you _do_ like cheese,” he said absently.

Agnes blinked lazily at him, looking far too smug for an animal without thumbs.

* * *

The scratching alone was bad enough; nearly half an hour and she hadn’t let up, tiny brown-grey paws shoved under the door to try to find a way in. Newt had no idea why she seemed so desperate, but it was nearly 11, and he really needed to get some sleep if he was going to make it to his check-up in the morning.

The scratching stopped, and Newt was about to cry in relief when the mewling began.

It was awful. Tiny, broken, little calls, clearly sad and maybe a little terrified.

His heart broke.

With heavy feet and a heavier heart, Newt dragged himself out of bed and to the door. He opened it just a crack and peered down at Agnes who had already shoved her tiny face into the crack and was trying rather ineffectively to get inside. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer in words, but the paw shoved through the door made her point well enough.

“Fine,” Newt sighed, and widened the gap.

She was under the bed in an instant.

“You okay down there?” Newt bent over to try to get a look, but all he could see was the briefest of glints off two round eyes. It was incredibly creepy. “Oh alright, you can stay down there. I don’t have time to fish you out.” Newt propped the door open with a pair of heavy boots and climbed back into bed. “Good night, Agnes.” He murmured sleepily.

Without the scratching, he drifted off rather quickly.

oOo

Newt woke to a weight on his chest and a vague memory of a dream about being crushed under a boulder. Impassive golden eyes stared at him in the dim light of his bedroom, only moving once Agnes appeared satisfied that he was awake. She moved silently to the end of the bed, then turned to stare at him once more.

As he sat up, she hopped off the bed and sat at the threshold of the bedroom, still staring at him unblinkingly. It was unsettling, to say the least.

“What do you want?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand and reaching for his glasses with the other.

Agnes said nothing, only sat and stared.

Newt threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor, groaning softly as he did so. He still hadn’t purchased a pair of replacement slippers. The clock radio on his bedside table said it wasn’t even 6am yet, far too early to be following a cat around the flat. Once he was standing, Agnes trotted off down the hallway to the kitchen door only to sit primly once more and wait for Newt.

Her meaning was so clear that Newt could almost laugh, padding after her on bare feet. When he got to the kitchen, he found Agnes now sitting pointedly beside her food bowl, staring owlishly at him. The bowl, a shallow dish of brushed steel, was about half full, all the kibble pushed to the edges so the metal shone through the centre.

Newt had read about this, that eating close to the edges would over-stimulate her sensitive whiskers and be generally unpleasant. So, while he grumbled about being woken for something short of an actual starvation emergency, he did add a scoop of dry food to her bowl under Agnes’ strict supervision. “There you go, fussy thing. You happy?”

Agnes immediately turned to the bowl and started eating, taking her attention off Newt for the first time since waking him. Newt had the distinct impression that he had been dismissed, so he left her to her breakfast and went back to bed.

When Newt woke up about an hour and a half later, Agnes was curled up beside him, not so close that they were touching, but close enough that he knew she was there.

He left his bedroom door open at night after that.

* * *

> Me: Don’t worry or anything but Agnes doesn’t seem to be eating her food. I’m sure she’s fine, I just wondered if you had any advice?
> 
> Anathema: Are you feeding her what I gave you?
> 
> Me: Well, yes. That ran out so I bought a new bag of the same stuff.
> 
> Anathema: The same flavour?
> 
> Me: There are different flavours?!
> 
> Anathema: What does it say on the bag?
> 
> Me: Ah, tuna and vegetables. Is that not the right one?
> 
> Anathema: Oh, she hates that one, sorry! I’ll reimburse you, of course, but you need to get the chicken and duck flavour. She’s quite picky.
> 
> Me: Only the chicken and duck flavour? Does she not like variety?
> 
> Anathema: Despite my best efforts, no. She’s such a snob.
> 
> Me: Noted. I’m headed back to the shops then.
> 
> Anathema: I’ll paypal you some money in a minute. Thank you for checking in with me though!
> 
> Me: Oh, don’t worry about it.
> 
> Me: Took a quick photo this morning. She found a lovely spot right in the path to the dining table and I nearly tripped over her. [1 attachment]
> 
> Anathema: Oh! I miss her so much! Be sure to give her extra scritches for me, yes?
> 
> Me: Umm, yes, absolutely.

“You, young lady,” Newt said to the sunbeam queen, “are entirely too pampered.”

Agnes barely looked in his direction as he pulled on his shoes and picked up the bag for life from the table by the door. _Chicken and duck_ , he thought to himself as he left the flat, determined to remember.

* * *

* * *

It wasn’t raining all that hard, but the casual drizzle that morning had been enough to dissuade Dorothy from her newfound tradition of yoga in the park. She had set up camp in the living room instead, the coffee table pushed to the side and her strange little round pillows, crystals, and other paraphernalia were laid out on the floor; looking like someone spilled a self-help book in front of the sofa.

Newt found himself wondering if she normally took all these tools and such to the park with her. It seemed like an awful lot of effort to go through just for some stretches.

He was curled up in an armchair by the back door, enjoying the soft light and the drizzle while he sipped a perfectly brewed cup of tea. The book he was reading* was just starting to pick up speed, and he was already forming ideas in his head of where the main character was headed next when he heard a startled “Oh!” from the other room. 

*The contents of which we will not detail, suffice it to say that there was hand-holding involved.

“You alright mum?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright!” Dorothy giggled. “You might want to come take a look at this.”

“Come look at what?”

“I’m not- oop! I’m not really sure how to describe it, but come quickly!”

Newt set his book down with some trepidation and stood, taking just a few steps to peer into the living room. As soon as he got a good look he began to giggle.

Dorothy was on the floor, her right hand and left knee holding her up with her other two limbs extended, grinning. On her back was Agnes, sniffing at her hair and shoulders. Dorothy was obviously trying not to laugh too hard, the two of them were already precariously balanced as Agnes continued to walk around.

“Looks like I’m not the only one she likes to stand on!” Newt laughed.

“Oh hush, you.” Agnes stepped onto Dorothy’s right shoulder and proceeded to shove her nose into her ear. “Oh! You little monster!” She laughed, dropping her extended limbs and trying to turn away. “Your breath smells awful!”

Newt came over to give Agnes a scratch behind the ears. “I think it’s the duck.”

* * *

Agnes hopped up onto the arm of the couch, firmly anchoring herself in place with three strong paws as the fourth reached eagerly between the cushions in a desperate bid to recover some unknown treasure. Newt couldn’t even begin to guess at what it might be.

He turned back to his Javascript textbook, thinking for the thousandth time that this would have been a lot easier to learn on a computer, but, well… maybe someday. He flips a page and sighs.

Something was amiss. The scratching had stopped.

He looked up to find Agnes sitting on the other end of the couch just peering at him, large eyes wide and… pleading?

“Can I help you?” Newt asked, wondering where he had stashed his bookmark as they frequently got lost in between pages.

No response.

“Are you hungry? Is that it? Mum fed you two hours ago, so that shouldn’t be it.”

Agnes blinked at him, and then glanced down at the corner of the cushions where she had just been digging before looking back up expectantly.

“Are… Are you asking me to help?”

Another blink.

Newt found his bookmark and set the book down on the coffee table. Cautiously, he scooted closer to Agne’s end of the sofa. When an attack was not yet forthcoming, he slipped his hand between the cushions and felt around. After a few seconds he found what felt like the missing remote, three hair ties, and a much smaller, much sharper plastic item. He pulled them all out and set them on the cushions for Agnes to peruse.

The smaller plastic thing turned out to be a bright red Lego brick. Newt wasn’t sure where it had come from, but it seemed to be exactly what Agnes wanted because as soon as he set it down she pounced and took off across the room to bat it around.

After a few seconds Agnes paused in her game, looked back at Newt for all of three seconds, then picked up the brick before streaking around a corner and out of sight.

“Well, that was a thing.”

* * *

> Anathema: Hey, I was wondering,
> 
> Anathema: Could I… come visit? For an afternoon? I really miss Agnes and I’d just like to hang out for an hour or two, would that be cool?
> 
> Me: You could stay for dinner? I’ll cook, what do you like?
> 
> Anathema: You’re sure? I wouldn’t be an imposition?
> 
> Me: What’s there to impose on? Come over for dinner.
> 
> Anathema: Okay sure, are you free on Sunday?
> 
> Newt: No, but I could do Friday?
> 
> Anathema: I can do Friday, If after 5 works for you.
> 
> Newt: After 5 is fine, I’ll see you then!
> 
> Anathema: I’ll bring dessert!

Newt set his phone down and wheezed a little.

Dinner. With Anathema. On Friday.

He needed to clean the house.

* * *

She claimed it was checking in on Agnes, and it definitely was, but Newt couldn’t help the tiny flutter of hope that Anathema’s visit was also, maybe, just a little bit, in some highly improbable way related to him, and a hypothetical desire to see him.

Anathema spent the first four minutes just holding Agnes, rubbing her face in soft belly fur and ignoring all of the cat’s increasingly acrobatic attempts to flee. When she was done and finally released her, Agnes took off up the stairs and Anathema just watched her go with a laugh.

Newt had made pasta, with pesto (hold the pine nuts) and a small assortment of appetizers he’d been curious to test out, and had practically melted under Anathema’s praise when she’d tasted each. He didn’t consider himself any sort of master chef, but he could hold his own in the kitchen and was immensely pleased that it seemed to be paying off.

At one point during the meal, Agnes made a reappearance much to their surprise by jumping up onto the table and making straight for Anathema’s plate.

“Oi!” Newt scolded, grabbing the cat as Anathema tried to shoo her off. “That’s the third time since Sunday, you little monster!” he dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor. “Don’t try that again, or I won’t help you get your Lego brick out of the couch next time!”

When he looked back up, Anathema was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. “What?”

“You sound like a cat owner.” She said simply, and took another bite of pasta.

oOo

“What did you say you do again?” Anathema kicked her feet absently against the sofa while she teased Agnes with a feather toy.

“Oh, well I’m a computer engineer, I build and fix machines, it’s interesting. But right now I’m more of a… research assistant.” More like a glorified errand boy, Newt didn’t say aloud. “The Sergeant has a lot of odd jobs for me to do, including the occasional trip to Mr. Fell’s shop.” He offered Anathema a lopsided grin. “What do you do?”

“Well, I think I’m trying to figure that part out right now,” she started, resting her chin in her hand. “I just moved here, I don’t really know what my options are yet. I’m hoping I’ll find myself.”

Newt tapped his foot against the floor, watching the toy as it sailed to and fro through the air; tiny, deadly little paws chasing it. “Anything sounding interesting yet?” He asked.

“I’ve been eyeing this little occult shop in Soho, not far from Az’s shop. They’ve had a “Help Wanted” sign in the window for two months and I’m hoping it’ll still be there when I talk myself into asking.” Agnes grabs the toy and tugs hard, and for a fraction of a second Newt is sure that she is going to pull it out of Anathema’s hand like she’d done to him several times. But Anathema keeps her hold on the little plastic handle, and even taps Agnes on the head with it. “I’m also thinking about school, but what classes to take is surprisingly difficult to decide on. I’ve already got a PhD, what should I study next?”

A PhD? Newt decided to save that for later. “Most of what I learned I learned from books. Maybe you could spend some time in a bookshop and see what calls to you?”

She was silent for a moment, tugging the toy away from Agnes, who was now on her back and trying to show said toy a similar amount of violence that he’d seen his poor slipper receive. “That’s not a bad idea.” She allowed. “After I move back into the cottage, maybe I’ll start online classes. See what’s available, if my next passion project calls to me from the listings. Maybe I’ll learn a fourth language, enlist Crowley to practice with me. Pretty sure he speaks Italian…”

As good an opening as ever, Newt told himself. “So, erm… Crowley. You’ve been staying with him, yes?” Anathema nodded absently. “I know it may be none of my business but, does that mean that the two of you are…” he trails off.

She looks up at him expectantly for a moment. “Dating?” She supplies.

“O-or something!” He adds quickly.

“Why?” She asks, teasingly. “Were you interested?”

“What, in him?” Newt flushed scarlet and tried to respond in a way that was not royally uncool. “I mean, he’s very pretty, I’ll give you that, but I sort of got the impression he was spoken for?” He squeaks.

Anathema’s response was softer this time. “Spoken for?”

“It’s just that, I’ve only worked for the Sergeant for a couple of years but he sends me to Mr. Fell’s shop fairly often. And, Crowley has… been around. I rather thought the two of them were… something.”

“Oh, they’re something alright,” she snorted fondly. “They just don’t know it yet.”

Newt gave a startled laugh. “How can they not know it?” He asked.

“Those two are so oblivious you could sing ‘La cucaracha’ while standing on your head and juggling puppies and they wouldn’t notice you for how intensely they look at each other sometimes. It’s kind of disgusting, but it’s also unfairly adorable so I put up with it.” She gave Agness a scritch behind the ear. “I do love him. Crowley, I mean. And, full disclosure: he’s an excellent kisser. But I’m not really *in love* with him. I dunno if that’s a thing I *can* feel.”

She was watching Agnes intently, and something about the way she held her shoulders made Newt consider that she may appreciate a change in topic.

He opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to mind. “So I finally tried those kale chips you mentioned.”

Anathema looked up at him, nonplussed. “I mentioned kale chips?”

“Just before you dropped Agnes off, you said you bought kale chips and liked them a lot. So I… tried… some.”

“Oh,” She tilted her head and Newt just knew his face was bright red. “What did you think?”

Newt tried very hard not to screw up his face but he wasn’t very successful. “Delicious!”

Anathema laughed. “You hated them!”

“Yeah, they were awful.” He hung his head and let his shoulders slump. 

“Well I’m sure there are plenty of other things you might like instead. Maybe next time I’ll bring something with me?”

“I’d love that!” Newt spluttered, his head snapped up quick enough he got a little dizzy. “I’m free all next week except Wednesday.”

“Tuesday it is.” Her brown eyes were crinkled in laughter, strands of dark hair escaping from behind her ears. She looked open, genuine, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Mrow!” An unexpected faceful of fur appeared in Newt’s lap, expectant snuffles and the vague smell of tuna. “Mrooowww!”

“Alright alright,” he mumbled, accepting a gentle head butt before wrapping his arms around Agnes and picking her up. “It is about your dinner time isn’t it? Let’s go.” He stood and started toward the kitchen. “You want to come or are you going to stay in here?” He asked over his shoulder.

“I’m alright,” he barely heard her reply before he rounded the corner.

“Suit yourself.”

“Mrooww.” Agnes interjected before she began to purr.

“Yes yes, I know. Let’s give you the duck today, your breath isn’t anywhere near smelly enough.”

Out of sight in the living room, Anathema smiled.

* * *

“Newton my boy, could you take these back to the Languages section while you’re headed that direction?”

“Yes, of course Mr. Fell!” Newt said and turned to face the shop owner. He quickly regretted agreeing however, as another three books were added to his already three tall stack of 18th century manuscripts on witches and a book of maps from when Newt wasn’t exactly sure. He gave Mr. Fell a pained smile and waddled off.

Newt never really knew exactly where on the shelves the books had come from, but Mr. Fell wasn’t exactly particular about where they ended up as long as they were in the same general area as similar topics.* He didn’t seem all that compunctuous about the locatability of his merchandise, and had an almost eerie knack for finding just what he was looking for regardless.

*What counted as similar was sometimes a bit of a mystery. Wilde first editions and Winnie the Pooh seemed to occupy a space of honor in a side room, Bibles and Prophecies shared an aisle near the back of the shop, and Newt had even once found a pile near the door that appeared to be a dubious mixture of satanist scripture and bodice rippers. He wasn’t particularly keen to find out why this combination had come about.

oOo

When Newt had finished replacing the books, and found two out of three items on the crumpled list in his pocket, he returned to the front to “check out” the Sergeant's requests. While Mr. Fell was making a note in a ledger near the register, something occurred to him and the question fell from his lips without a second thought.

“Do you not like cats?”

Mr. Fell looked nonplussed. “Excuse me?”

Newt felt his face turn red as his own words processed. “A couple months ago, when Anathema was here and needed a sitter for Agnes, you said no. I suppose I wondered why?”

“Oh!” Mr. Fell’s face turned just a hint pink as well. “Well, you see, this place isn’t exactly conducive to the safety of a cat. So many books, and tall things to climb, not a smart mix.” He coughed, then quietly added “Not to mention Crowley's allergy.”

“He’s allergic? Is that why Anathema needed a sitter in the first place?”

Mr. Fell’s face turned brighter, and Newt realized he probably hadn’t been meant to hear the last part. “Well, yes, with the windows open or only for a short time it’s not so terrible, but the build-up of a few weeks or more can really set him off. Wouldn’t exactly be smart to keep her at his flat with Anathema herself.”

“That makes sense,” Newt added dully.

“Quite.” Mr. Fell coughed again, finished his notes, and shoved the books back across the counter. “Give my regards to the Sergeant, then.” A clear dismissal.

* * *

Letting Agnes go was one of the most difficult things Newt had ever had to do and the reality of that realization nearly took his breath away.

Anathema arrived on his doorstep right when she’d said she would two months prior, the Bentley revving on the street behind her. “Is she all packed up and ready to go?” She asked.

“Oh, yes,” He croaked. “She’s in the carrier and her stuff’s in a tote.” He stepped aside to allow Anathema access to his home.

 _This might be the last time I ever see Agnes_ , Newt thought to himself, and a wave of grief made his nervous smile fall.

Anathema eyed him cooly for a second before heading to the living room, kneeling before the carrier and offering her hand to Agnes, who sniffed it through the grate and pitifully meowed her request for freedom. “You know,” she began, not looking up at him. “I might be visiting my mom in the States sometime next year. It’ll probably be at least a week. I can’t think of a better place for Agnes to stay than here.”

Newt lit up, and blushed furiously when he realized just how readily he’d shown his hand. “She’s always welcome here.” He spluttered.

She smirked as she picked up the carrier. “Can you get her food and toys? I can only carry so much at once.” A horn honked outside, and Anathema leaned out the door to shout “Can you relax for five fucking minutes?”

“Absolutely not, witch!” Crowley shouted right back, leaning out the window of the Bentley.

She sighed fondly and shook her head. “The shit I put up with. Let’s go!”

Newt followed her out to the car with the bag of supplies, dropping them a little wistfully on the back seat. He noted with vague concern that there didn’t appear to be any seatbelts, but was quickly distracted when Anathema spoke up. “What did you say?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I said, maybe you could come over for a visit in a week or two, get a look at the place. I could make you dinner, as a thank you.”

“I’d love t- oof!” He groaned, bumping his head on the frame of the car. “I’d love to!”

“Oi! Watch the paint job!” Crowley hissed. 

“Ignore him." Anathema scowled at Crowley. I’ll text you later to figure out details?”

“Sure, okay.”

She got in the car and drove off with a final wave out the window, and Newt watched and waved back until they were out of sight. It took him a few minutes to go back inside.

* * *

Dorothy was exasperated, overturning throw pillows and checking under tables. “Where is that remote? Newt sweetie, have you seen it?”

“Check between the sofa cushions?” He offered, lifting his feet so she could check under the recliner he currently occupied.

“Sofa cushions?” She made her way over to said sofa and began to dig. “Aha!” she exclaimed as, presumably, she found the remote. “Ouch! What-? What is this doing here?”

Newt looked up from his book and felt his heart wrench. In her hand was the red Lego. “Agnes put it there.”

“Oh,” Dorothy held the little plastic brick and looked about as miserable as Newt felt. “You know, I really miss having her around.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “Me too.”

* * *

Four days later, as Newt was heading back into London for work, he passed a pet store.

“No, I shouldn’t.” He told himself. “Really, I shouldn’t. Just wait a couple of weeks, you’ll feel better.”

He stopped in on his way home anyway.

* * *

“Wow! This place looks great!” Newt enthused, peering at the spotless counter and freshly painted walls. “I have no idea what it looked like before, but it’s beautiful now.”

“Thank you! I wasn’t 100% sold on the walnut, but Aziraphale swore by it and he wasn’t wrong. Though I did have to argue with him about the color in the den. I’m not looking at taupe walls while I eat for the next however long.”

“I can’t blame you. Our walls are the same beige I grew up with and I’m pretty sick of them myself.” As he was speaking, Agnes appeared around a corner and trotted right up to Newt, brushing against his trousers in a friendly ‘hello.’ He knelt and reached out to give her a scritch which she readily accepted. “Well hello to you too, Agnes. Are you enjoying the renovations?”

“Oh she definitely is,” Anathema grinned. “A friend of mine suggested some installations for cats, she’s got a climbing tree and a couple of hidey holes built into the wall. They’re in the living room, wanna see?”

“Oh yes definitely!” Newt gave Agnes one last good scritch and stood to follow her.

oOo

“I didn’t think it was that spicy!” Anathema cried in dismay. “I even used less cayenne than my mom does!”

Newt was doubled over next to the table, his face twisted up and bright pink, Anthema trying to figure out how to help.

“Can I get you some milk?” She offered.

“Lactose intolerant,” He gasped, trying desperately to take deep breaths and let it out.

“Rice milk?”

“Could work?”

“Hold on lemme just,” she had her phone out in seconds, typing away. Newt vaguely wondered if this would permanently damage his mouth, or at least if he would feel it for a few weeks-months. “Oh! Can you eat nuts?” Newt shook his head. “Honey?” He nodded. “Just a sec.”

She was already up from the table and into the kitchen.

Agnes chose that very second to jump onto his lap, her long fluffy tail brushing along his cheek. It was a very strange sensation, and Newt couldn’t decide if it helped or hindered. Agnes would not let him shoo her off, instead hunkering down on his thighs and beginning to purr. The burn was already lessened, but still enough that his face felt uncomfortably warm and he was having some trouble remembering to breathe. 

“Aha!” He heard a triumphant shout, a clatter of silverware and then Anathema was standing in front of him with a large spoonful of honey. “Try this!” She waved it in front of his mouth.

Figuring it couldn’t get much worse, Newt shrugged and opened his mouth, allowing her to set the spoon face-down on his tongue. It immediately felt better. He reached up and took the handle, relieving her, and she smiled softly, patting him affectionately on the head.

“We’ll work on that,” she said softly. “Work you up to it.”

Newt was glad that his face was already flushed as he nodded mutely. He found himself absently petting the furball in his lap as the honey soothed his tongue.

“Maybe next time Agnes will come to your rescue again?”

“Yoo gnu-“ He winces as he swallowed some of the honey to try to speak. “You know, we’ve really missed her around. Mum’s been sighing and eyeing the spot on the sofa where she used to take over.” He coughed a couple times before continuing. “I bought a couple goldfish, but it’s not really the same.”

“Goldfish? Have you named them yet?” She sat down again, apparently satisfied that Newt wouldn’t need any more emergency help for the time being.

“Yeah, Left and Right.”

“Which one’s which?”

Newt opened his mouth to answer, but it took him a moment before he said “... You know, I’m not really sure. Might as well have been Up and Down for all the good it did me.”

Anathema stared at him for all of six seconds before doubling over with laughter, tears in her eyes.

He couldn’t help but grin back, still wincing but overwhelmingly happy anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> So Newt's mom never got a canon name but while I was writing this she just really felt like a Dorothy and I got attached to it. That's her name now.
> 
> I actually catsat for a friend of the family a few months ago and this idea would not let me go, so it's really very satisfying to finally share this with the world. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Brought to you by: [Animals interrupting yoga](https://guff.com/these-adorable-animals-are-interrupting-yoga-time)  
> A list of books Aziraphale is known to keep: [Spreadsheet](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1Sduvj1yb7LTR0F2pr0OxoB_vKKyP0mIKGC7iMyqicdo/edit#gid=0)
> 
> Also, if you’re at all interested in joining a bingo event, please check out BingoKisses on tumblr or twitter, a multifandom celebration of sensual love and affection. Signups close on Friday so act fast!


End file.
